


xviii, the moon

by screechfox



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Bad Decisions, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Peter Lukas is Terrible, Pre-Canon, tarot reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: Oliver considers his options, and comes up with something different, but no less dangerous.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 57
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	xviii, the moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quantumducky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/gifts).



> technically the hermit would have been a more appropriate title, probably, but it's my fic and i'll misuse tarot imagery as i like

It’s not an easy decision for Oliver to make, contacting the Lukas family. In truth, it’s downright insane, dragging some upper-class Kent family into the wreck of his life. He’ll be lucky if he gets away from this without being sued for libel, arrested for stalking, or otherwise disappeared.

Then again, he thinks with a wry chuckle, disappearing might be exactly what he’s aiming for.

Oliver’s done his research, you see. Point Nemo is a daydream, but this is something real. If you know what you’re looking for — or if you’re obsessed enough to sort the wheat from the chaff yourself — the Lukases are involved in something that might help him even as it kills him. 

It’s not a lot to go on, but it’s enough for hope to sit heavy in his stomach as he makes the call.

(He gave Evan Lukas a tarot reading in a pub once. Oliver has never believed in it, really — real omens of the future always come in much more disorienting forms, in his experience — but he’s not one to say no to a stranger’s ten quid when it’s offered to him.

He’d laid out the cards: past, present and future; the Two of Cups, the Lovers, and Death.

“Ominous,” Evan had commented, as querents always did.

A better tarot reader might have given the standard spiel about the Death card not meaning that, and about how it’s the Tower you’ve got to watch out for, but when he glanced Evan over, Oliver realised that neither of them had the energy for that.

“Sometimes death is just death,” Oliver replied. 

Evan had smiled sadly in response. His engagement ring gleamed as he pressed his hand to his heart. Dark veins spilled through his fingers unnoticed, pulsing to the slow beat of his heart.

“Let’s hope so,” he’d murmured, ordering another drink.)

“Are you scared of being alone?” Peter Lukas asks, pleasant and to-the-point.

If Oliver squints, he can see the resemblance to Evan, but it’s entirely superficial. They have the same amiable smile, but Peter’s doesn’t look genuine. They have the same grey eyes, but Evan’s were like diamonds and Peter’s are as empty as glass. The paleness must be a family feature, but it’s harsher on Peter: the white of ice rather than Evan’s gentle snowfall.

“Sure,” Oliver says, because honesty has gotten him this far. “Most people are.”

There’s a hint of skepticism to Peter’s replying hum, as though the concept is alien to him. From what Oliver’s heard, maybe it is.

“You’re not most people, are you?”

“No,” Peter concedes with a disinterested nod. “I’m not.”

“I don’t want to be alone. But I need— some peace and quiet.”

He may have spilled his story to the Magnus Institute, words pouring onto the page like vomit, but Peter doesn’t inspire the same eloquence. Nothing about him suggests a welcome ear.

“A lot of effort to go to for some peace and quiet. It might be more than you’ve bargained for.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Oliver sighs, and it’s almost a laugh. “I’m not pretending to know what I’ve let myself in for. But it’s this or—” Point Nemo, tantalising in its lifelessness, “—a fairytale.”

Peter’s amiable smile never wavers, but there’s a sharp edge to the glint of his eyes, like anticipation, like hunger. He looks at Oliver like someone might look at a rich meal, and it’s almost enough for Oliver to call this whole thing off.

There’s a dark vein wrapped around a passerby’s neck like a choker. 

Oliver sighs again, and he stays right where he is.

“It’s not unheard of,” Peter comments, off-hand, “for people to pledge themselves to one power in order to avoid the terrors of another.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” It’s a terrible lie, but if Oliver’s suspicions about the Lukases are correct, Peter isn’t going to push him on it — at least, not right now. If he wants to make Oliver feel alone, he’s going to have to wait for the right time to drive the knife in.

“Just some food for thought.” Peter winks, and it’s exactly as superficial as the rest of him.

That’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s not a lonely world Oliver wants to rest in, but a lifeless one. He isn’t well-versed in the patterns these things follow, but he knows it’s not the same. 

“Thanks,” Oliver mutters. His breath fogs in the air, and there’s goosebumps on his skin.

A cold and empty world is close enough, really. He won’t be happier, he won’t be safer, but— maybe things will be easier. Maybe he’ll finally be able to sleep.


End file.
